"Why do I feel like I slept longer than usual?" Ett muttered, blinking at the slanting afternoon sun that spilled across the study. Her neck ached from the stiffness of a nap she hadn't realized she'd taken.
"It must be because you are too tired, Matriarch," Ares said quietly, his tone carefully measured.
Ett squinted at him.
She didn't respond. Some things, she realized, were best left unspoken. Still, a small spark of satisfaction flared: the papers on her desk had diminished. By later this afternoon, she might actually finish. And then freedom for other matters. Other agendas. Plans she had yet to set in motion.
The recent batch of documents had been subdivided: some for Guren, some for her own review. Ett had taken most of the files into her care, organizing them meticulously. She always thought it a good exercise, mentally and emotionally. But her body? It was still far from ready to endure these long stretches of strain.
Still, there was no time for hesitation. She would finish the papers and take a stroll just to stretch her legs, remind herself that she wasn't a machine.
"Yosh." A tiny smile tugged at her lips. Motivation burned.
Cough. Cough.
"Yeah, right," she muttered, rubbing her nose lightly. The familiar irritation persisted, but she ignored it.
—Three hours later—
"She endured longer than before," Physician Fran observed, gently dabbing at the small traces of blood on her nostrils. "Have her inhale two Laur Leaves for now. I neglected to tell you the more leaves, the stronger the effect."
Ares raised an eyebrow. "Why not grind them for the Matriarch's tea?"
Fran shook his head. "She does not enjoy tea unless compelled. We cannot force it constantly."
"Very well," Ares said, inclining his head.
"Wonderful," Physician Fran replied, stepping back.
Ett's eyelids fluttered. She feigned sleep, unsure what to say. How had she slept so long without realizing it? No wonder her sense of time had collapsed entirely. These two, the physician and her newly acquired butler, were clearly conspiring to manipulate her rest.
"You may place it near her nose as well," Fran said.
"This would it not make the Matriarch sleep even deeper?" Ares asked cautiously.
"As she should," Fran replied without hesitation.
Ett pinched the bridge of her nose. Of course the physician knew she wasn't asleep. He always knew. Well, fine. She would endure it.
Ack. She woke once more, neck stiff from improper support. Napping, as it turned out, had consequences.
"Good afternoon, Matriarch," Ares said, bowing with his usual composed smile.
"Mm?" Ett blinked, disoriented. Afternoon? Turning toward the wide window, the sun was unmistakably high.
"What in the world…" Her voice trailed off. How many Laur Leaves had they let her inhale? She knew. They weren't fooling her.
Ugh. She'd have to work overtime. Again. If Ares continued to let her inhale those leaves, she might find herself at her desk at midnight indefinitely.
"Matriarch, are you unwell?" Ares asked softly, lowering his voice.
Ett exhaled. Brother, I can hear your last question. Not a whisper, not even close. And yes it was too much.
Thanks ever so much.
She understood their concern, though it irked her. They didn't know her true aim. If only she could be carefree like the FL in these stories no effort, no burden, everything granted. But no. Here, everything came with toil, secrecy, and risk. Fake, it was always fake pretend.
Ett hummed. Secrets must remain hers alone. Always.
"This is so messy," she muttered.
"Shall I organize the papers for you, Matriarch?" Ares offered politely.
No. Not that kind of messy.
The weight of unshared knowledge pressed down on her. How could she fully entrust her plans to anyone, especially in a world scripted for betrayal, power plays, and narrative cruelty?
She shook her head, returning to the pile where she had left off.
"Just stay close," she told herself. Finish early, rest, and then take that stroll. Perhaps she would even sketch out the next few strategies while walking.
The Laur Leaves were abundant these days, at least. But she missed Eru. That bird had been gone for months, and its absence unsettled her. Something was off too silent, too suspicious.
"Ares," she called.
"Yes, Matriarch?"
"How fares your mother?" The question startled him, and he hesitated before bowing respectfully.
"She is well, thanks to your generosity, Matriarch," he replied after a moment.
Ett nodded. Good. With her disguise vials, Ares' mother need not toil endlessly; she could remain on standby, ready but not exhausted.
"Have you ever killed anyone?" The question fell casually, but with a sharp edge, catching him entirely off guard. He bowed immediately.
"Forgive me, Matriarch, but I have not. Yet if you command, I will not hesitate."
"Even if your mother intervenes?"
Ares smiled faintly. The Matriarch was testing him, surely. "I am confident Mother would understand."
"Then proceed against Count Shubert."
Ares stiffened. "Pardon, Matriarch? What is your meaning?"
Should he wait for a sign, gather intelligence, or prepare a slow-acting poison? The question hung in the air. Judging by her gaze, she would not permit direct action without discretion. It might be his first trial, but he would approach it cautiously.
"Nothing," Ett said lightly, brushing the thought aside.
She did not expect him to act. Ares was different. Even brainwashed, he would not soil his hands with the dirtiest work. She had Akan for that.
"Perform your duties with diligence," she instructed.
"Yes, Matriarch." He tilted his head, clearly puzzled. The expression alone was amusing to her.
Better that he acted as a butler, an informer, a careful observer, than a reckless operative.
"Tell me something I do not know," she said, her voice light but commanding.
"Recent news."
"Of the nobility or commoners, Matriarch?"
"You choose."
Ares considered. "Well…have you heard of Love Behind the Curtained Veil? It is…an enigma."
A rendezvous, she realized. Likely the debauched gatherings of nobles described in the novel.
"Not fully," she said.
"It is as the name implies full of influence, manipulation, and vice. Matriarch might consider this normal for higher nobles, but it is worse than expected. Secret trades persist. Sire Akan informed me Archduke Froiz is aware and has distanced himself accordingly."
Ett absorbed this quietly. Much of it she had skimmed in her story. It was one of the blind spots she had failed to consider.
"And the owner of the Veil?" she asked. "Is it still a mystery?"
"Yes, Matriarch. But Adanel Ecluss oversees it, known only to a few closely tied to the gatherings, such as Count Shubert."
Her head throbbed. So, Cashim knew? Still, she would withhold this knowledge, not yet ready to reveal it.
Another pile of obligations pressed on her mind. Too many threads, too many risks.
"How old is Arandel?" she asked aloud. "The second son… sixteen?"
"Indeed, Matriarch."
Ett exhaled. Earth children at sixteen were consumed by games, sports, romance, and study. To wield this kind of maturity and cunning…outrageous.
"Adanel, the eldest, are you certain?"
"Yes, I observed him speak with Count Shubert. Though masked, his voice remained unchanged, his demeanor recognizable. I attended as a specially treated servant."
Ett's lips twitched. Ares held back information he was careful, thoughtful, and precise. Good. He would be useful. That pig could wait; for now, discretion mattered.
"Interesting," she murmured. "And a substantial flow of money accompanies this?"
"Yes, Matriarch. Though the Emperor eliminated the illegal traders in the Beggar Street Incident, far more remain in the noble circles."
Ett leaned back, thoughtful. Guren allowed them this freedom, every indulgence before sweeping it all away in one decisive stroke.
Arandel knew too much; his family's network reached deeply, quietly, and efficiently.
If the thread of influence stretched this far, had she underestimated the timeline of events?
"Anything else? The Ostenian Duchy?"
Ares hesitated. "Do not hold back."
"Erm…Matriarch, I cannot confirm fully, but I heard…something about a fascination with the Emperor. Perhaps rumor, perhaps more."
"What sort of fascination?"
"As you may know, Veridian is an uncommon, bluish-green color among flora."
"Yes."
"The Duchy cultivated blooms resembling Veridian: Green Chrysanthemums and Lily of the Valley. Their gardens were filled with these, particularly at the rear of their estate."
Ett's brow furrowed. Most nobles avoided such hues, wary of mimicking Adiand royalty. Yet here, they flaunted it. Admirers or pretenders? She would keep them under observation.
"Let them be for now."
Ett judged the level of threat low; in her story, the Ostenian Duchy were minor antagonists.
"Even if they harbor such notions, the Garth Duchy of the North holds the power to check them," she mused. Plot armor, as the novels dictated, would protect her designs.
"More?" she asked.
"The common populace, Matriarch. Few outsiders visit now. Most trade was restricted after the Beggar Incident; children are pushed for modest tasks, the trade head claiming it as the Emperor's charity."
Ett shook her head. Cashim misread everything, seeking favor and attention where none was due.
"I see," she said finally. Labor could be organized better; the conquered provinces could contribute under careful supervision. Efficiency, oversight, and control. All necessary.
"Seriously," she muttered, rubbing her temples.
Better to rest than cough blood again.